


A collection of work by Lucien Grey

by FenZev



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Qunari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenZev/pseuds/FenZev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Please note: these are NOT my fics.  </p>
<p>I am hosting these fics in his memory, as Lucien is no longer with us.  He was a brilliant writer, and the thought that these pieces would be lost forever didn't sit well with me, so I've decided to post them here.  </p>
<p>Two one-shots based on Qunari lore; Lucien always had a far better grasp on the Qunari than anyone I know, and he taught me so much during the writing of Basalit-An.  Truly gifted, it was an honor and a privilege working with him, and having him in my life.</p>
<p>You are missed - I hope your storm has ended and you have found peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Qunari Funeral

Deep in the rainforests of Par Vollen a gathering is occurring - all Qunari, people of the Qun, have come to pay their last respects to their Arishok.

Hundreds stand in pristine lines befitting of an army - each standing at attention, staring straight ahead, at the alter in front of them. There is a path from the stoned alter through the trees that has been cleared and in the distance the sunlight glints off the heavy blade that once belonged to their leader.

A Sten marches forward carrying the blade in his hands, handle wrapped loosely in black cloth. One does not dare place their hands on the hilt of a weapon that is not his own - to do so would bring disgrace and dishonor not only to yourself but your entire unit. The Sten's own sword, Asala, rests comfortably on his back as he continues forward, eyes of the other Qun focused on the double-edged axe he carries. As he passes each row of Qunari, they bow their heads in respect.

He reaches the alter and sets the blade to stone. The axe has a story all its own to tell - unsharpened, stained with blood, nicks and scratches left uncorrected. Representation of that final battle, the fall of the Arishok they had served for years. The blade was returned to his people as was the sacred text which he fought for and won. A true warrior until the end.

One by one, each and every member of the Qun approached the alter - bow, kiss the blade, stand and return to your position. It is a final honor to bestow upon the one you have served - for some their entire lives. This process will take the entire day to complete well into nightfall. No tears are shed - that is not the way of the Qun. Respect, honor, dignity, admiration. No tears.

When all who have served him have paid their respects, one last group is permitted to approach the alter as a unit instead of individuals. Three women and sixteen children form a circle around the alter, hold hands and bend their knees, chanting a prayer to their fallen leader. These are his children and their mothers who offer their final goodbye to him. Their prayer turns to chant that the rest assembled join in on, their words echoing through the trees and stilling the song of wildlife around them.

The chant will continue until the time is right, until a sign from above symbolizes they have completed their respects. This sign comes hours later - the moonlight shines down upon the blade and casts out a bright glimmering light in all directions. All prayer halts abruptly and as one they fall to their knees as their fallen leader is accepted to his heaven.


	2. Anaan

I am a member of the Beresaad, a warrior, seeking an answer to the Arishoks question. What is the Blight? I return home with more questions than I have answers.

I have fought beside Grey Wardens - an honorable task as defined within my role, though they are human and therefore feeble. I have traveled with un-collared mages - both whom would have benefited from having their mouths sewn shut. Elves and dwarves are still of little interest to me. I would have one want - to return to Seheron with the golem Shale - the one worthy enough to be called Kadan.

Darkspawn have walked the land and been slaughtered. An archdemon has been slain and not by my hand but by a woman not performing within her role. None of it makes sense. No one has a place here - no distinct and defined role - yet an army was forged and an archdemon slain. To question the Qun or the Arishok would mean death but I do have questions.

How is it that this society functions as it does? No one is content to be who they are. These people do not believe in one life, one duty. They strive for achievements outside of their assigned tasks at birth. This I do not comprehend. What is its purpose? The Warden said it was a search for happiness - there is no happiness within a given role? Qunari accept their role and find purpose within - performing those duties with honor is fulfilling enough. That is where happiness lies.

Sating the Arishoks curiosity as to what the Blight is now seems more a useless task. It is the waking of an archdemon who leads hordes of darkspawn to the destruction of land. This is no more necessary to know than why a jungle cat tears apart its prey or why rodents save food for the frozen seasons. It is within the darkspawn nature to do such things as it is within any other creatures nature to do such things. Instinct, survival, the role of which they were born to do.

The question should have been how this dog-smelling country managed to unite in defense when there is little structure or clear leadership. I was left at the gates of Denerim to command this army of misfits the Warden had collected and they fought with honor. Took to my leadership as if they had served me their entire lives. Purpose in their hearts - pride in their eyes. It was the closest to home I had felt since leaving the jungles of Seheron.

This is the answer I will return with. What is the Blight? An unfortunate yet remarkable opportunity for Anaan - victory. Ordinary merchants, farmers, nobles who coalesce long and well enough to be called Basalit-an - worthy of Qunari respect. Should I be put to death for this explanation would mean I have died with honor - the honor of fighting alongside these people and showing that pride to my people.


End file.
